


It did matter

by Rionam



Series: Time not told [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: FIx It, M/M, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rionam/pseuds/Rionam
Summary: “Why did Mary send this?” Sherlock seemed to become irritated when John’s response was to stare at him, “It doesn’t make sense. Mary made two video messages prior to her death; the first gave strict instructions for me to save your life. This one is not important. A video full of sentimentalism about adventure and friendship, with no actual value.”Who they are, it did matter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Time Not Told", although you don't need to read that to understand this. I'm going back through S4 and filling in the blanks, to fix it how I'd like to have seen certain parts.

Weeks had passed since the insane craziness at the lunatics’ asylum and things were beginning to finally settle down. John thought back on that time as if was some kind of completely ridiculous nightmare that he couldn’t quite believe had even happened. He’d been chained to a well, filled with the bones of Sherlock’s estranged sister’s first murder victim and Sherlock’s childhood best friend, for god’s sake. 

Sherlock never mentioned what happened, never talked about where he was going when he left the flat with his violin. But John knew, of course, that it was bothering him intensely that he was having to interact regularly with his family members, just so one of them wouldn’t go all murder-game-show on them again. Even Mycroft had become a regular at Baker street, seemingly checking up on how the pair of them were coping with the traumatic events on the island at at their previous family home. 

It was ridiculous, really, that the only time John really felt whole was when they had clients. Running around after murderers and psychopaths was the only thing that seemed normal now. Everything else seemed incoherent and unimportant. 

When Sherlock wasn’t back on murder island, he was going all out in his role as godparent. Much to Mrs Hudson’s (and Sherlock’s begrudging) happiness, John and Rosie reoccupied the upstairs bedroom at 221B. Being a single parent wasn’t so difficult, because really he wasn’t. Sherlock, since his sleep schedule was already nebulous, was up with the baby at all hours of the night without complaints. Often John came down in the night for a glass of water and would find Sherlock telling Rosie stories in hushed tones, reading from Dickens and Walt Whitman as if it was an ordinary children’s story. He would look at John almost nervously at these times, checking what he was doing was right.

John would smile and joke that Rosie wouldn’t understand the complex metaphors quite yet. 

Sherlock would respond that Rosie’s intelligence was beyond comparison at this point, and that the young child was taking after him in that respect.

John would fail to mention that that’s what a parent would say about their child, not a godparent. 

There was a lot that John didn’t mention, really. Not that he was plagued with nightmares of Sherlock deciding he was the one he’d kill, not Mycroft. Not how Sherlock’s actual decision also played on his mind, he knew Sherlock and Mycroft’s relationship was strained to say the least, but to have Sherlock choose to kill his own brother over him… It didn’t make sense. 

He didn’t mention to stares they got when he and Sherlock took Rosie out in her pram. How women fawned over the child, and her supposed parents. Surely Sherlock had noticed? How could he not notice people calling both of them Rosie’s ‘daddy’? How Lestrade casually mentioned how well both of them had settled into parenthood?

No, he didn’t want to think about it so he didn’t mention it.

Things were settled, manageable, just the way John liked it. That’s why when a wretched white DVD with the sprawled words ‘miss you’ posted through the door, John’s heart sank. Sherlock looked at him cautiously, asking for permission to play the contents. 

John nodded, inadvertently allowing the image of his dead wife to appear on the screen. And things were no longer settled. She talked about them, their lives without her in it and John finds himself agreeing with everything she was saying. Well, most of it.

Of course their lives were about the adventures, but surely who they were meant something as well?

Who they were, were a detective and a blogger. A ‘sociopath’ and a doctor. Two opposites who came together at just the right time to save one another, in more ways than just one. Mary’s message seemed blasé, patronising; an insult really, that she thought him and Sherlock couldn’t figure these things out for themselves.

Sherlock’s face was blank. He made no move to turn off the DVD, still staring at the frozen image of John’s ex-wife as if she was going to continue talking. Like there was so, so much more to say.

John scratched his head, trying to find some humour or something to say about the situation. It seemed funny to him, somehow, that Sherlock was more affected by Mary’s post-humus message than he was. John only felt that same niggling irritation he’d once felt when Mary nagged him to do the dishes, when he had every intention of doing them anyway. But he was never the best husband, really.

“Can’t believe Mary predicted me moving back in here, ha,” John attempted to joke, but it fell completely flat. 

Sherlock looked at him just as blankly, as if if trying to process his words. 

“She knew I couldn’t stay away for long,” John continued, no longer joking. He felt concerned when Sherlock again didn’t comment or give his opinion, “What?”

He frowned, “Why did Mary send this?” Sherlock seemed to become irritated when John’s response was to stare at him, “It doesn’t make sense. Mary made two video messages prior to her death; the first gave strict instructions for me to save your life. That was important, something a wife would want to do; safeguard her husband’s future after her demise. This one is not important. A video full of sentimentalism about adventure and friendship, with no actual value.”

John was still very confused, “Value?”

“No instructions, no threat of death for either of us, no hidden meaning. Just telling us ‘who you are doesn’t really matter’; what does that even mean? What is the point? At what point in a wife’s day would they sit down and decide to record a video, so if on the off chance she died, her husband and his best friend would know she wants them to keep having adventures?”

Realisation dawned on the shorter man. As lovely as it was, why did Mary bother to make this video? It didn’t make sense. 

“I have no idea,” John responded honestly. He walked over to the DVD player and extracted the DVD, peering at the scrawled ‘miss you’ message. 

Sherlock loomed over him, “Miss you,” he considered, “Who misses who?”

John tried a smile, “Maybe Mary misses me, from beyond the grave…”

“Dark humour doesn’t suit you, John,” Sherlock replied shortly, leaving the room quickly with the DVD in hand. 

When John got back from drinks with Lestrade that evening, he found the DVD had been placed in a plastic wallet and speared to the mantel (carefully in the centre so the DVD wasn’t damaged).

Sherlock was nowhere to be found, not in his room, the living room or kitchen. John wouldn’t usually be put off by this, however, as Sherlock was prone to disappearing at stupid hours of the night. But he’d been watching Rosie, and that was a problem.

John took the stairs up to his room two at a time, looking to quickly change his clothes before he tracked down which friend Sherlock had passed his daughter off on this time. However, he stopped quickly when he realised his room was occupied.

On the bed, Sherlock was sitting with Rosie on one knee, poring over the photo albums John had hidden away after Mary’s death. They were the family photos, the wedding photos, anything John had found too painful to look back on. Sherlock’s lips were moving but no sound appeared to come out as he stared at a photo of himself, John and Mary from the wedding.

In the photo John was staring directly at the camera, smiling, Sherlock was staring intensely at John and Mary similarly at Sherlock. John had kept the photo because he’d said Sherlock appeared to be deducing him like a client and it was funny, what he’d never noticed was was Mary was looking at him in exactly the same way. Mary was frowning slightly, her sharp eyes trained on Sherlock.

John stepped into his bedroom, keeping his tone and expression light, “Sherlock, what’re you doing?”

Wordlessly Sherlock handed John his child, still staring at the photograph. His mouth continued to make the shapes of words he didn’t enunciate. 

“Those are the wedding photos, aren’t they?” John asked, stating the obvious the way he knew Sherlock hated. He hoped irritation would lead to him speaking his mind.

Sherlock still didn’t look up, but his words began to flow out as if he’d been speaking the whole time. “-she never seemed outwardly jealous but she chose a house far from the parts of London you knew and although she seemed to encourage our ‘adventures’ the number of cases you went on decreased massively when you got married.”

“What are you talking about?” John asked, humour in his voice and he jiggled Rosie up and down. 

“’Who you are, it doesn’t really matter’,” Sherlock quoted. When John didn’t immediately clock on, he rolled his eyes, “Why was Mary so concerned with whom the both of us are? That is an odd thing for a wife to say in her dying message to her husband, don’t you think?”

John shrugged, “I guess. I mean it wouldn’t be the first thing I’d have wanted say to her if I was going to die.”

“Exactly. Notes given after death are always full of professions of love and speeches about the lives you’d lived together. But Mary’s wasn’t like that. She talks about you and I, things we have done and what we will do. Not usually a wife’s first concern, a man’s relationship with his best friend.”

“That’s true…” John said slowly. He hadn’t really given the video message much thought, but that niggling irritation and doubt had been in the back of his mind this whole time. 

Sherlock slammed and the photo album onto the bed and Rosie gave out a squeak in shock. John gave Sherlock a withering glance and placed Rosie into her cot, leading Sherlock by the arm downstairs so they could talk without bothering the baby.

“’I know who you are and who you could become’” Sherlock continued to quote angrily, sitting down in his armchair and clasping his fingers under his chin, “It’s obvious she knew about your bisexuality, you hardly hide it John, and although I don’t actively advertise my own sexuality, with her intelligence it isn’t a far stretch…”

“Bisexuality, what? Sherlock, what are you talking about? You’ve seriously lost me there…” John stammered, his face heating up. This certainly was not a conversation he expected to ever come up again. He knew he’s once flirted with his flatmate, the chemistry pretty damn obvious, but they’d moved on. Grown up. Or so he thought.

Sherlock looked almost amused, if he wasn’t so irritated, “Oh come on, John. The first case we went out on you weren’t exactly discreet with your flirtations. Of course I turned you down because I wasn’t ever looking for something like that, but it was always there. You never took it off of the table until you met Mary and got married.”

John stared at the floor, his breathing irregular. He had genuinely no idea Sherlock realised he was bisexual. He hadn’t had relations with any men since him and Sherlock had moved in together and the only time he really thought about his sexuality was in relation to his mad flatmate. But that had been tossed to the back of his mind ever since Sherlock had faked his death and turned both their lives upside down. Chemistry and attraction aren’t a high priority when you’re running for your life.

“Now, Mary wasn’t stupid. She would have known about your sexuality even if you hadn’t told her. But I took such a large step back once I knew you were seriously committed, I didn’t realise she would have seen the connection between us…” Sherlock continued, his voice calm and un-conflicted, as if discussing that day’s news. Despite neither of them ever having admitted to being attracted to one another before. 

John’s voice was weak, “Connection?”

“Yes John,” Sherlock stopped for a moment, finally seeing how uncomfortable John was with this whole conversation, “Oh. Have a misspoken? Perhaps I was wrong in my deductions…”

“No, no,” John seemed to grow redder, if possible, “No, I am bisexual. And, erm, yeah I was coming on to you that time in Angelos.”

Sherlock smiled, “Obvious.”

“So you’re saying you’re gay? Or at least interested in me, that way?” John asked, trying to keep the hint of hope out of his tone. He’s closed this box years ago, long before he’d even met Mary. So even addressing this as a possibility was beyond his wildest imaginations.

“Mary must have seen it, of course, although I never registered any of of it,” Sherlock continued, brushing past John’s words as he deemed them unimportant. 

“Any of what?” John asked finally, looking slightly wounded that Sherlock wouldn’t address the conversation they really should have been having. Why was he so bothered about what Mary had said?

“The jealousy,” Sherlock responded, in his usual ‘you are an idiot’ tone, “That’s what this whole message was about, obviously. She had seen ‘who we really are’ or whatever and knew that with her gone there was nothing stopping us from getting together. As a particularly possessive and jealous person she would find the idea of you finding an ultimately more satisfying relationship after her death an insult to her memory, as for her you were ‘the one’. So she recorded and sent this message in the hope that we would ignore an attraction to one another and be distracted by the cases, the ‘adventure’ and sustain a pleasant but ultimately unsatisfying colleagues and friends’ relationship. Therefore, keeping her place as the most important person in your life.”

John looked entirely bawled over by this. He couldn’t believe that both Mary and Sherlock would find the idea of him and Sherlock getting into a relationship to be inevitable, when he had always found the idea to be completely ridiculous. Sure, of course he was still attracted to him, how could he not be? The thought that Mary would go to the lengths of recording video message just to stop them from getting together… that was far fetched, even for John.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that was fantastic, or whatever?” Sherlock drawled, as if he’d just deduced a particularly difficult client. He seemed to be enjoying John’s discomfort at the whole situation.

John took a deep breath, “That was… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. 

“Well I hardly expected to find out that everyone, including my dead wife, seems to have figured out my sexuality and who I want to be with despite being pretty damn unsure of it myself!” 

John’s words came out a lot louder and a lot angrier than he intended. He really didn’t know how he felt about these completely ridiculous plot developments, it felt a lot like white noise was taking over his brain. Sherlock knew he fancied him. No, Sherlock fancied him. Mary knew. Everyone knows. Unbelievable.

“You’re angry,” Sherlock commented, his words calm and his expression unreadable. Recognition seemed to fall over him, “You didn’t know you were bisexual?”

John wanted to laugh, he blew hot air out of his nostrils, “No. I, I know I’m bisexual.”

“What is the problem, then?” 

John sighed, “I didn’t you you felt… about, well. I didn’t know you felt anything, like that. Especially not for me.”

Sherlock frowned. He continued to consider John as if he was some kind of particularly difficult puzzle that he was yet to find the solution for. It was obvious that in his mind, he could just come out with this kind of thing and then carry on as usual. What he didn’t understand was that John couldn’t find out that Sherlock had feelings for him and just pretend that nothing was different. Because it was.

“Tell me straight. Is this you telling me that you are gay and are interested in a relationship with me?” John asked, as calmly as he could muster.

Sherlock’s expression was unreadable, “I was just solving the puzzle.”

A burst of hard laughter tumbled out of John’s mouth. His voice was incredulous, “No, you know what? You can’t just come out with all of that and then say it was for a case, or whatever. There was no case. This is real.”

“What do you want from me?” Sherlock asked, in a way that betrayed he knew exactly what John wanted.

“I need you to tell me exactly how you feel… towards me. Don’t give me any of that married to your work crap again, because you’ve just admitted that things have changed and that we could have a, what, a ‘ultimately more satisfying relationship’. I need you to tell me what you want.”

There was a long moment as the men stared at one another, their faces both apprehensive. John was bubbling with the feeling of something unknown; this could be the conversation that made or broke him and Sherlock. Either their fiercely fought for friendship would be ruined or he would get everything he’d ever truly wanted. And he wasn’t sure which was scarier. 

“I don’t want anything to change,” Sherlock’s voice was low, guarded, “We already have everything we need. I’m closer to you than I’ve ever been to another human and this is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve ever had. I can’t lose this. Again.”

John let out a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding. He felt almost sorry for Sherlock, he knew how hard this was for him, “I know that. I understand. But if you really are saying you have feelings that way, then we could be even better. You wont be losing anything.”

Sherlock didn’t reply. He took great care walking over the the window, staring out of it likely to hide his face from John. John, whom felt nauseous imagining what kinds of ideas were flying around that crazy man’s mind.

Would he kick them out? Make him and Rosie find somewhere else to stay now that he’d compromised their friendship? It wouldn’t be a far stretch. John convinced himself that he’d imagined it, that Sherlock hadn’t been saying that he fancied him, that there was no way he would ever think of him like that. 

Suddenly the dark haired man turned, a strange, slow smile gracing his lips. 

John stared, aware his mouth had dropped open a little. What was this?

Sherlock asked, “Hungry?”

John’s lips quirked, “Starving.”

“I know a child friendly place just down the street, you can always tell a restaurant is suitable for children from the cleanliness of the doormat…”

Both men were grinning widely now. This was easy, this was their routine. 

One thing changed, however. John grabbed Sherlock’s coat from the back of a chair and helped him into it, using the lapels to pull Sherlock down to his height. No, they’d never kissed like this before. 

Sherlock’s hands were gripping John’s skull as if he was about to fly away, kissing him as ferociously and with as much care as he played the violin. John’s hands had slipped inside Sherlock’s coat, running them up and down his back, just because he could. They had both obviously dreamed about this day for some time, and we’ren’t likely to let go any time soon.

Who knew that Mary’s attempt to keep them apart would push them closer together again. Who they are? It did matter, after all.


End file.
